Flames of Their Piano
by eriririri
Summary: Leo Baskerville needed to collect his belongings from the Nightray manor - especially after Elliot's death.


**A/N: **I've had this little idea for a while, and I finally got to it. Enjoy.

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Leo hadn't been to the Nightray mansion since Elliot's death — and now, weeks later, he stands on the front steps, that red cloak draped over his fragile, somewhat shaking shoulders. He wonders how much exactly has changed — that is, if anything had truly changed at all. The smell, the way the books laid all those days ago — the shoe that laid so forgotten on the floor after Elliot had thrown it in frustration?

He knew he had to do it — had to get his belongings _himself_ and possibly, secretly, sneak anything into his pockets that belonged to, smelled like, his dead master. The young Baskerville bit his lip, ignoring the salty taste that slipped into his mouth and seeped into his tastebuds. He had to do it — how else would he get over the pain, the agony, the tears that were held back so tightly? _Get yourself together, Leo. You pathetic, moronic, little devil of a —_

Quickly, the raven boy stepped, one by one, up the steps; the atmosphere becoming darker and darker with each step he took forward. After all, his light, his master, the one person that actually truly matter was gone, dead — no more in the word, the scent his beloved person carried forgotten in the wind, but no — not once he stepped on the other side of the threshold. The smell, so indescribable, hitting him like slap across the face. Leo tried to breathe slowly, holding back the impulses to yell and scream at the servant's who touched his master's things so casually. He slowed his pace even more, his eyes barely registering the red cloaks that shuffled past — hadn't he decided he was going to get his things himself, by himself? _These damn servants. Leave me alone in my sorrow —_

Images. They flashed through his mind, so vivid — almost as if Elliot was truly there, beside him. Was he… beside him? Tempted, Leo wanted to look, to reach out, to run to the room they always played piano at —

_The… piano._ He'd almost forgotten it was there, a piece of his past life and Elliot's own life. How many times had the two played it together, listened and watched one another play it? As Leo began to walk slowly to that one, certain room — more images ran through his mind. The time Leo played Elliot to sleep in that room on a rainy, insomnia-drenched night. The time they both fell asleep on the floor, right next to the piano — together.

The raven could feel it — he was approaching the room, growing nearer and nearer. Twice — no, six times, he hesitated to move forward, to put his right foot in front of his left. Could he do it? Could he handle it? _Perhaps… it's worth a try…_ he thought, silently preparing himself. Still, he ignored the people around him — they wouldn't understand, they didn't understand; how could they, anyway? Leo didn't know. He'd never know — no matter how much he said he would, no matter how much he said he did.

_Little steps… God damn, what am I? A two year old? Get the hell in the room! _Upon his own will, he pushed himself in the room — the vast, gray room in which the most grandest piano in the Nightray household stood. The piano was big, a bit worn, but it still played and looked good as new. That was something Leo knew. _And something Elliot knew —_ Mentally, the young Baskerville shook himself — it was no time to lose his composure now… even though, deep down inside, he knew he would.

Silently, he walked inside the room, his eyes narrowed as he reached to stroke the wood on the instruments, as he plucked the various strings… until, finally, it was time he reached out and touched the piano. It still looked as it did weeks ago, the piece the two boys were working on still held at the top — and it still played in Leo's mind. He didn't notice, but his breathing got a bit heavier, his eyes turned to a glare and his palms began sweaty. How could he not notice? That gaze, so transfixed on the sheet of paper — the set of his fingers and shoulder, tense as his chest rapidly fell and rose until he was finally screaming, tears stinging his eyes and cheeks; his hands and feet kicking, hitting, punching the piano and the seat which matched it so until he was finally held back by the servants that came along with him, insisted so —

_"__Burn it, burn it, burn that wretched thing — get it out of my sight — I do not wish to see it — !" _he screamed, pushing his servants off him and yelling repeatedly to burn it, to get it out of his sight, to make it burn in front of him; tears still brimmed his eyes, still fell onto his cheeks.

Moments later, somehow, the servant's managed to get the piano outside into the yard — and Leo, still in the piano room, narrowed his eyes, if possible, even more; occasionally kicking a violin, throwing tables and chairs at the wall so they broke and fell apart in front of him, just like Elliot did to him, and — _Flames…_ His eyes widened, Leo looked over his shoulder as his body turned, those eyes of his setting upon the flames; the bright, beautiful yet depressing and sorrowful flames that radiated off the piano. Leo's piano. Elliot's piano.

_Their piano._

Sniffing slightly, Leo's narrowed eyes softened. "_Our piano._" was all he whispered as he allowed himself to stiffly lower to the floor, huddling himself in a tight ball in the spot the burning piano once was.


End file.
